Note: Rated T for language.
Tono
Punctuate
,
Comma.
The sentences don't end yet. There are conditions, hints, extensions - he is hoping that all of this won't end yet. The series of words leave him with his expectations of sweeter metaphors and truths.
.
Period.
Somewhere it all ends. He is now left frustrated with broken promises. Now that he looks back to the sentence, all of the words just seem like seas of insignificant letters. He was given the capacity to expect, yet is left disappointed in the end.
P.S.
Oh, the nerve. What would he expect? Good news? Mistakes? Corrections in what he had said? Here he is, as stubborn as ever, hoping again for some sort of miracle.
I'm sorry.
He blinks, and, after a minute of registration, laughs bitterly. That's bullshit. It is pathetic to say that he is sorry when, in fact, those sentences aren't accidents. Or are they? Still he laughs. He has wasted his time hoping and loving this heartless monster who gave him lengthy time in paradise and a climax, to cap it off, in hell.
But damn. He realizes that he's still in love with him. The bitter laughter of his seems to echo in his hollow chest, taunting him to forget his other half. But he still holds on to what's left of himself. He is an idiot for being a martyr, for experiencing those clichéd unrequited romances. Nevertheless, he still finds the effort to tell himself that he loved him. He still loved him.
So, fucking much.
(And it hurts him to see that the heartless monster he dearly loves, is staring right back at him in the crystal clear mirror.)
Constructive criticism is very much welcome.